


Hurts

by badwriterrr



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian is 16, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, He's still aged up i'm sorry, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jon is 18, M/M, a bit of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwriterrr/pseuds/badwriterrr
Summary: The first night it happened it had been strange. Stranger than strange. Crossing that oh so thin line between friendship and something else, like putting a jigsaw piece in a place it wasn’t made for but forcing it in anyway. It had been the night of Damian’s sixteenth birthday, and both he and Jon (despite Kryptonian genetics) had gotten wasted on the vodka Todd had snuck them. It was hazy, and Damian wasn’t quite sure how it had started. One moment he’d been stumbling over Jon on the dance floor and by the time he blinked they were in his bedroom kissing feverishly.orJon and Damian were best friends until they weren't, and Damian isn't sure how to deal with that...
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, just an fyi that Damian is 16 in this so a lot of the smut isn't gonna be super explicit on his behalf.
> 
> Also this is my first super sons fic!

The first night it happened it had been strange. Stranger than strange. Crossing that oh so thin line between friendship and something else, like putting a jigsaw piece in a place it wasn’t made for but forcing it in any way. It had been the night of Damian’s sixteenth birthday, and both he and Jon (despite Kryptonian genetics) had gotten wasted on the vodka Todd had snuck them. It was hazy, and Damian wasn’t quite sure how it had started. One moment he’d been stumbling over Jon on the dance floor and by the time he blinked they were in his bedroom kissing feverishly. 

They lay together, after they’d finished, or at least until Jon had finished (Damian’s body was far too drunken for that). There wasn’t anything in the air between them, besides Jon’s pleased and sated sighs, and for a moment Damian allowed himself to believe what he’d done hadn’t been as horrible for them as he thought. 

“Did you know,” Damian said, “I’m a direct descended of Cleopatra the sixth.” He said it lightly, continuing their conversation earlier on Jon’s ancient Egypt essay for school.

“You’re also a direct decedent of Batman, Dames,” he said with a laugh, tightening his grip on Damian’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. 

“Yes, well, Batman isn’t royalty.”

“Didn’t Cleopatra marry her brother? Is that why you’re so close to Dick?”  
Damian slapped his stomach and winced at the thought of that. “Don’t be disgusting, Jonathan, Incest isn’t genetic, even if Grayson and I are not genetically related, that is fowl. That would be like me and—“ You. He didn’t say it. But his words, or lack thereof, remained heavy in the air. And yet still, Jonathan, still naked beside him only pressed closer. Damian could feel all of him. He was still so so intoxicated and that strange heat pressed to his thigh still felt so so good. Jon’s breath caught as Damian inched his leg closer, accidentally providing a slight sense of friction for Jon. 

Jon let out another shaky breath and turned his head to stare at Damian. “Do you want to go again? I can see if I can make you cum if you want?”

Damian gulped and refused to look at him, though he couldn’t ignore the fleeing of Jon against him. He tried to say no, but the words kept bubbling up in his throat, and it all came out wrong as a helpless cooing, “Yes.”

When he woke up with a startling type of pain somewhere he’d never thought to hurt, he realised immediately their mistake. And suddenly what was simply pin-pricks of nausea turned to full-fledged freak-out. 

He’d leaped out of bed and pulled on all his clothes, including his stained green tie that was now sticky with Champaign. 

He had nowhere to hide. He thought in horror. Nowhere to keep away. To ignore it and hide it and bury it away with all the memories of the league. For a horrible moment, standing in the middle of the hallway, he realized he was going to cry. He was going to cry and someone was going to see him and then he didn’t know what he’d do. 

He found himself in Dick’s bedroom a moment later, glassy-eyed and silent. Dick was still asleep, curled up close to a clump of wavy red hair. Gordon or Koriand’r, he guess, Damian couldn’t keep up with Dick’s very ginger love life. Damian let himself slide to the floor, suddenly remembering how much it hurt to stand. He allowed his face to fall into the crook of his elbow but refused to let any tears drip. His head was spinning with a hangover and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he might have just fucked everything up with one of the only people that mattered to him. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep again, or if the remaining alcohol in his system was still pulling him in and out of consciousness, but when he opened his eyes, the red head in Dick’s bed was gone and Dick was crouched beside him looking bewildered. 

“We’ve got to put a bell on you. You’re so quiet,” He grunted, raising a brow at him. And then his face went a little pink, “You haven’t been there all night… right?”

“Don’t worry Grayson, I didn’t bear witness to your lovemaking with one of Gotham’s three gingers.”

Dick winced, “Ew, you’re like ten, don’t talk about that stuff.” And then he slouched beside Damian coiling an arm around his shoulder. 

“I’m sixteen, Grayson.” And then he paused looking away, trying to shut of his thoughts the way he mother had taught him. Maybe she was right, maybe he had spent too much time with his father because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop.

“Damian…” He whispered, noticing the change.

“I’ve done something terrible.”

Dick stiffened and gulped. “Is it… fix-able…”

“No. No, it’s not.”

Dick was completely frozen, eyes wide, mouth slack when Damian turned to look at him.

“I— Damian. I think— fuck — why didn’t you go to Jason about this… I don’t, you know I—“ He cut himself off, retrieving his arm back from around Damian to rub over his eyes. “Just— just don’t tell me anything else alright… I’ll plead ignorance to Bruce, and Jason can… Jesus Damian… Fuck…”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Grayson,” he said coldly, looking away.

“You didn’t? Thank fuck, Damian, you had me worried,” he said, a slight chuckle in his voice. 

“No,” he said, and this time more to himself, “Worse.”

And then noticing the silence, he said, “I slept with someone.”

It was then when Dick started to laugh. Clapping him on the shoulder with mirth. 

“Come on Damian, don’t be a buzz-kill, I mean you’re the same age I was when I—“

“It was Jon,” said Damian, cutting him off. Dick sucked in a breath, and out of the corner of his vision, he could see Dick turn a little purple.

“But, Jon… He’s way too old for you, Damian!”

“He’s eighteen, Grayson,” grunted Damian with a scowl, feeling that pang in his chest only grow. 

“Baby-bird…” Dick’s voice was soft now, gentle. The way he would be holding something made of paper, an origami Robin in his palm.

Damian stuttered trying to put into words just how much he’d fucked up. How sick he felt. Disgusted with himself. Like he never wanted to move again. Like he never wanted to be a person ever again. He wanted to turn to stone so he wouldn’t have to breathe or think or hurt. But every time he closed his eyes he was six years old again in Nanda Parbat watching a man doused in a blaze of fire, except this time it wasn’t the man from his memory, it was Jon screaming and helpless and in pain and it was all Damian’s fault. He’d always known he would corrupt Jon, but not like this.

He cried into Grayson’s shoulder for what felt like hours and by the time he finally relented, head aching with a dull thwack, it was almost mid-day. They had cucumber and cheese sandwiches in the kitchen, served graciously by Alfred. Jon had left already, Damian realised, probably through the bedroom window because otherwise, he’d be down at the kitchen slobbering over Alfred’s cooking. Damian felt his heartache more, because he at least though he deserved one last goodbye. 

He let his hurt fester. Three days he let it rot inside him, doing away with his soul like a cancer. Turning. Everything good to pain. Metropolis was less than three and a half hours away, but he could make it two pushing the limit of his brand new Maserati (a gift from his father).

The Lane-Kent town house was a tiny little thing in down-town Metropolis. Damian always found himself wondering how anybody could live in a place so small, even in the manner, Damian found himself tripping over somebody every five minutes. Similarly, in size, it was also terribly unsecured (though with one and a half aliens inhabiting it, maybe that was understandable). It’d always been easy to break into Jon’s room, up a brick wall littered with sturdy pipes, and he was in, sliding open the window crawling inside. 

“Hey!” Said Jon, chair already turned to face him. “Your new car is loud.”

Damian was taken aback by this a little. The easy normal way Jon just ignored everything between them.

“Passed that essay by the way, but I didn’t say you were Cleopatras long lost grandchild.”

“Great great great grandmother,” Damian sneered. “And I actually didn’t drive all the way here to talk about that.”

Jon’s face went strange. Violet eyes looking back at him with hidden behind them. And the smile that pulled his lips together only tweaked one dimple. “No, I didn’t think that why you came, either.” Jon stood, towering over Damian. He’d gone from being a little taller than Damian at ten to being almost two heads taller at sixteen in the span of about a month. And Damian still hadn’t gotten used to that, even three years later. And still, Jon was smiling. “You know, I got a little worried you weren’t going to,” he said, his voice lower now as he took a step closer. 

“Yes, well I thought it was only right that I did.”

“Well, I’m glad you thought that.” Another step. 

“Good to know we’re on the same page,” said Damian, clearing his throat, trying to remind himself why he’d come. To sort it out. To fix it. And yet, Jon still moved closer.

“Mmhmm,” hummed Jon, and kissed him. It was a hungry kiss. His lips forcing Damian’s open even in his shock. He tilted his head to the side allowing entrance. He couldn’t even think. Jon, the bastard, wasn’t letting him. Damian could focus on only one thing. Kissing Jon back. Arms coming down to wrap around his neck just as Jon’s found the small of his back. Damian was on the balls of his feet, reaching up helplessly to keep them together, refusing to break the kiss even to breathe. It was heat, it was fire. Dangerous fire, roaring to life and obliterating Damian’s morals with a hunger so vicious it had to be alive like a parasite. 

Finally, Damian’s head still spinning, Jon pulled away to pressed a wet kiss to Damian’s cheekbone, hovering there to whisper, “I’ve been thinking about doing that all week.” And then he lent down to kiss Damian’s jaw, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about a lot this week.”

Damian flushed, but objections were muted by the rush of blood in his head. “Your—your father—“

“Lead paint, remember,” whispered Jon, head gesturing to his walls.

“Right,” said Damian with a rather loud gulp when Jon returned to his neck, nudging Damian backward till his already weak knees buckled when they hit the bed, Jon sprawling atop him. 

“Fuck,” Damian let out as Jon palmed him through his slacks. 

“What do you want?” Asked Jon, grinning into Damian’s collar bone. 

“Fuck, anything. Jon— please, I—“ 

Jon smiled, hand pulling under his shirt, and in a swift movement stripped him out of it. Following by pulling the Wonder Woman shirt off over his head too. Fuck. Fuck. Damian was so fucked. Maybe literally. Defiantly literally. 

And within fifteen minutes, he was.


End file.
